It was a rainy tuesday today. That meant looking for fun indoor activities for Nori and I. There is a small local bookstore that supposedly has a fun kids section. The problem with small and local is that we were the only customers and had the full attention of the sales clerk. When she asked how she could help us, I quickly said that I was looking for toddler Christmas books. Thinking this would buy Nori some good playing time with the cool wooden kitchen they had there. She proceeded to spend 20 minutes pulling all of their toddler Christmas books. As I started to look at them, I realized two things, one: I was going to have to buy something and two: what the heck are we going to teach Nori about Christmas? Santa or Jesus? Or both?
A few years ago, I privately decided to give up trying to make Christmas about Jesus. Not that I don't value my faith, it just seemed that in the midst of the Santa culture, ie Christmas traditions that I enjoy- there wasn't space for truly sacred time. To paste Him on as a side note didn't seem authentic, and maybe even damaging to Christianity. So why not just let it be the tradition that it is: food, gifts, sparkles and festivities. Although it was originally a Christian holiday, let's face it- it isn't anymore and that's okay. Yes, in some way we can say it is all "for Him." But come on- really? To shop, to overeat, to decorate and then say merrily "Jesus is the reason for the season?!" Or to justify all these gluttony by saying it is God's birthday?
I love Christmas traditions, ie the Santa version. I love making crafts, cookies, cutting down a tree. I love the music and the rich food, not to mention egg nog. Before Nori, I wasn't about to give up these festivities, and even more so now. We don't want her to be "that kid" who insists on the playground that Santa isn't real. We don't want here to be the puritan that isn't allowed to participate in this childhood magic.
But seeing things from her perspective, as I do now a days, how is the Santa story any less true than the Jesus story?
What happens when she founds out Santa isn't real? Then, will she trust that Jesus is real? So, what book do I buy her?
The Nativity Story? The Polar Express? The Night Before Christmas? The Twelve Days??!
I have some hope that we read them all. In a schizophrenic blend of Santa and Jesus she will some how be a happy American kid falling asleep Christmas eve with visions of sugar plums (after coming home from church) and that she will awake to gifts that make her squeal and later that day be thankful be part of a community that includes those less fortunate that Jesus would have spent time with.
So,I chose the book with the most beautiful illustrations, the one that made me want to be a a child again- "The Night Before Christmas."
As I was checking out, I asked about their return policy. She asked if I wanted a gift receipt? No, I said sheepishly. I am just not sure if I want my daughter to read it. I have to talk to my husband first.
This is our life now- when "The Night Before Christmas" becomes a whole out philosophical crisis.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Love Like This
Love like this
At 22 mos
There is balance
Fierce, burning love
Reaching hands
Baby
Mama
Hold me
Hold me
I need you
I need you
Walking together
Knowing each other
Eyes sparkling
Joy overflowing
Shrieks of Happiness
Kisses upon kisses
Mama
Baby
At 22 mos
There is balance
Fierce, burning love
Reaching hands
Baby
Mama
Hold me
Hold me
I need you
I need you
Walking together
Knowing each other
Eyes sparkling
Joy overflowing
Shrieks of Happiness
Kisses upon kisses
Mama
Baby
Going to Haiti/Leaving Nori
I am on the plane to Haiti, leaving Nori for four days.
The past few weeks have been as sweet as honey. Just being with her has been pure joy. Nori has been moving out of her "mommyitis" into a more peaceful and confident state. It is beautiful to see her brain grow to process the world, ideas of "permanence" (mommy is still there when she leaves the room) and to see her emotions even out as she learns these new things. But behind her emotions, her brain, is her spirit. And the older she grows the more I see her spirit clearly. It has been the most consistent part of her as her body and behavior grow. And boy is she a "spirited spirit!" She is intense, perceptive, sensitive, particular and so so so much fun. I absolutely love her love of life. This sweet season combined with impending anxiety about leaving for the Haiti trip has allowed me to truly cherish time with her.
At least once a day she will do or say something that completely melts my heart and there are literally bubbles of joy that fill my chest. I feel it may burst. Yesterday she wanted to push her stuffed animal in her toy stroller. When we got to the cracked sidewalk she picks the whole thing up and then sets it down, patting the animal on the head.
Is there any love like this? In some ways she is still at the stage of feeling like my baby. In a physical sense, her body is still an extension of mine. When she crawls into my arms, her legs wrapped around, I can still feel that she is flesh of my flesh. The other day, I was remembering her inside of me. Looking back with a fondness that I didn't know then, because I did not know her yet. Almost how you would look back spending time with a spouse before you even dated. The intimacy we know now brings an exciting newness to those memories. To remember her feet kicking me brings a smile. Her smells, her sounds, her skin, even her poop, are all so known to me now, as though she is me. We know each other in many ways more intimately than lovers. And we are reflections of each other in not only genetics, but in adapting our habits to become like one another. Again, the Pete and I have become like each other in some ways over the years. And him like Nori and Nori like him. So much of this happens under the surface that there is no telling sometime what came from who and we are in the purest sense- family.
And yet there is this space between us that is both magical and frightening. Leaving the house this morning reminded me of the illusion of control I have. She is not me. She is not mine. To walk away for four days at times feels "not right" because of our intimate daily rhythms. Yet it is this space that makes me humbly remember she is her own. She is cared for not ultimately by me, but by God and the village that is her friends and family. And it is this space that love loves too, not only closeness. In this space we are each our own unique spark created differently.
I wanted to talk to her about leaving, so last night I told her Mama was going on a trip. "Mama, trip, Mama, trip. . ." she said for the next 30 minutes. I held up four fingers and lowered them as I counted. Four days and then I will be back. "Mama, back, mama, back." Daddy will be with you. And you know who else? "Shirley." That's right and who else? "Saty (the other toddler Shirley watches with her) , babyyyyyy, bella." That's right and who else? "Daddy?" We put a picture of us in her crib. She cried going to sleep more than usual. Mama cried a little too. It felt like an authentic attempt for both of us to be honest in leaving. I had peace.
I have barely left Philly and I am already overwhelmingly grateful for this trip. I have cherished each moment I have with her over the last few weeks and that presentness is something I long for so much in life. Not only with her. Maybe it was this presentness that eased her separation anxiety?
I pray for presentness in the four days in Haiti. I don't want to miss any of what I am to experience there. And in this break from mothering, from the vertical transmission of care, to receive and know myself as other than a mother.
Last night Nori, Bella and I went to the park and ran errands. What is usually a "getting through" few hours before bed, was instead a magical time that I didn't want to end. Maybe it was the perfect fall weather, the brilliant trees, Nori's new attempt to sing in the car, blowing each other kisses and holding hands. Or maybe it was the gift of not wanting time to go forward or backwards, but to simply be. I have felt this before, when I fell in love with my husband. And now again: love.
The past few weeks have been as sweet as honey. Just being with her has been pure joy. Nori has been moving out of her "mommyitis" into a more peaceful and confident state. It is beautiful to see her brain grow to process the world, ideas of "permanence" (mommy is still there when she leaves the room) and to see her emotions even out as she learns these new things. But behind her emotions, her brain, is her spirit. And the older she grows the more I see her spirit clearly. It has been the most consistent part of her as her body and behavior grow. And boy is she a "spirited spirit!" She is intense, perceptive, sensitive, particular and so so so much fun. I absolutely love her love of life. This sweet season combined with impending anxiety about leaving for the Haiti trip has allowed me to truly cherish time with her.
At least once a day she will do or say something that completely melts my heart and there are literally bubbles of joy that fill my chest. I feel it may burst. Yesterday she wanted to push her stuffed animal in her toy stroller. When we got to the cracked sidewalk she picks the whole thing up and then sets it down, patting the animal on the head.
Is there any love like this? In some ways she is still at the stage of feeling like my baby. In a physical sense, her body is still an extension of mine. When she crawls into my arms, her legs wrapped around, I can still feel that she is flesh of my flesh. The other day, I was remembering her inside of me. Looking back with a fondness that I didn't know then, because I did not know her yet. Almost how you would look back spending time with a spouse before you even dated. The intimacy we know now brings an exciting newness to those memories. To remember her feet kicking me brings a smile. Her smells, her sounds, her skin, even her poop, are all so known to me now, as though she is me. We know each other in many ways more intimately than lovers. And we are reflections of each other in not only genetics, but in adapting our habits to become like one another. Again, the Pete and I have become like each other in some ways over the years. And him like Nori and Nori like him. So much of this happens under the surface that there is no telling sometime what came from who and we are in the purest sense- family.
And yet there is this space between us that is both magical and frightening. Leaving the house this morning reminded me of the illusion of control I have. She is not me. She is not mine. To walk away for four days at times feels "not right" because of our intimate daily rhythms. Yet it is this space that makes me humbly remember she is her own. She is cared for not ultimately by me, but by God and the village that is her friends and family. And it is this space that love loves too, not only closeness. In this space we are each our own unique spark created differently.
I wanted to talk to her about leaving, so last night I told her Mama was going on a trip. "Mama, trip, Mama, trip. . ." she said for the next 30 minutes. I held up four fingers and lowered them as I counted. Four days and then I will be back. "Mama, back, mama, back." Daddy will be with you. And you know who else? "Shirley." That's right and who else? "Saty (the other toddler Shirley watches with her) , babyyyyyy, bella." That's right and who else? "Daddy?" We put a picture of us in her crib. She cried going to sleep more than usual. Mama cried a little too. It felt like an authentic attempt for both of us to be honest in leaving. I had peace.
I have barely left Philly and I am already overwhelmingly grateful for this trip. I have cherished each moment I have with her over the last few weeks and that presentness is something I long for so much in life. Not only with her. Maybe it was this presentness that eased her separation anxiety?
I pray for presentness in the four days in Haiti. I don't want to miss any of what I am to experience there. And in this break from mothering, from the vertical transmission of care, to receive and know myself as other than a mother.
Last night Nori, Bella and I went to the park and ran errands. What is usually a "getting through" few hours before bed, was instead a magical time that I didn't want to end. Maybe it was the perfect fall weather, the brilliant trees, Nori's new attempt to sing in the car, blowing each other kisses and holding hands. Or maybe it was the gift of not wanting time to go forward or backwards, but to simply be. I have felt this before, when I fell in love with my husband. And now again: love.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
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